


Counteraction

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Comeplay, Facials, Intercrural Sex, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:34:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam hasn’t kissed anyone since Danielle, and it feels so much bigger than this room full of five boys who don’t know anything but how to hold onto each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counteraction

**Author's Note:**

> This was begun almost four months ago, just after the Liam/Danielle split, and when Niall/Demi was still A Thing, so click the tape and rewind or however the song goes. This is mostly fairly filthy porn with some interspersed feelings. Warnings: Hints of angst, formerly unrequited feelings, light emotional h/c.

See, there's not just _one_ thing (pardoning the pun) about the situation, is there? There's Harry and Lou and the sparkler of their love that never, never quite goes out, no matter how subdued it may be, that sets off fires behind closed doors when it can't burn the entire world down. And there's how lately, they've been so quiet, burning themselves up, while the papers run headlines that would've been funny a year ago, but by now are just another ache under their ribs. And there's Niall, keeping a smile when he's summoned for the first time to a meeting on his own and pressed to be someone, something, he isn't, to wash out his mouth with the same soap they've used on Harry and Louis, to speak louder and grin wider with teeth that aren't his own, to flirt with a girl that doesn't give a shit about him just for the pretty picture they make in the tabloids.

And god, Zayn- everyone says he'll be the first one to crack but what they don't seem to realize is that he _has_ ; he's never been whole this entire time, not for a second. He never sleeps, never unwinds, never unhinges- not even in his own bed, now, not even in Danny's or Ant's. And every time the needle slips new ink under his skin, he cries a little, out of relief.

And now Liam has his own heartbreak, his own cross and burden and skeleton to bear and shoulder and hide, and it's never been easy, not even for him, but it's never been like this.

They gather and it makes Liam cringe, a little, how this is something they don't just _do_ anymore when it's not for work. It's Louis that proposes it, of course, Louis with his ways, the leader that couldn't be but fell into the role so naturally; he asks, cheerful as ever, how come they _never just chill together anymore, lads, we must remedy this,_ and that's how they end up at Niall's. (Because Zayn's is also Danny's, and Liam's is a graveyard, and Louis and Harry's is more sacred now than ever, battlefield and headquarters at the same time.)

Liam offers to pick up food, because he'll do almost anything to escape his flat these days, and an extra hour of freedom from the scent of carpet that's seen her hair spread out in a river of curls, lying on her back as they fed each other ice cream and watched cartoons in early morning sunlight- he's gagging for it, and can only be grateful when Louis nods. Niall doesn't even remind him to get enough, because Liam always gets enough, and even though it feels like they don't know each other anymore, they do.

They flip through crap telly because none of them want the responsibility of picking a movie, and Liam curls up in the corner of Niall's couch and lets the newly-again blonde tuck his toes under his thighs, spread out as he is across the rest of the sofa. Harry and Louis are knotted together tightly in the armchair, feeding each other bits of food like baby birds, and Liam can't look at them because it hurts far, far too much.

No one tells Zayn to just go and smoke on the balcony, not even when he's tapping his fingertips against his knee where he sits on the floor, leaned up against the couch, because there's rules to this, and staying together is one of them. Staying together is the ideal goal across the board, really.

"Are you really smoking that much?" Liam asks, too sharp, sharper even than he means, and he's a little bit mad. Because Zayn's hands are thin and the bones and tendons flex and Liam can almost hear them moving and Liam wants to know why he would ever, ever risk this, risk them, for a stupid box of cigarettes.

"Are you really being a twat?" Zayn snaps back, glances minutely at Liam, fixes his eyes back on his knees just as quickly. "Are you really surprised?" he asks with the same force, and suddenly they can all stop pretending to care about the telly.

Liam flinches and he sees Niall's chest rise and fall too-fast, like an inhale, and it's childish, fearful like a kid backing out of a room when his parents start in on each other. "How many is it really?" Liam asks, keeping his voice low. He hasn't looked to see if Harry and Louis are even paying attention, and there's a false hope that maybe he can keep this from blowing up if he's quiet. "How many a day?" Because hell, if there's one thing any of them know by now, it's not to trust the papers.

Zayn reaches into his jacket pocket for his pack, tosses it at Liam and it lands on his lap. "If I'm lucky, that'll be out by the morning," he says, and doesn't bother watching for Liam's reaction to the eighteen fags still lined up and waiting.

He doesn't catch, either, how Harry's pressed his face against Louis' neck, murmuring _let it happen, let them fix it_ under his ear as Louis clenches his hand into a fist.

"Christ," Niall says, and he's lying so still now, hyper aware of the fact that he is, for all purposes, between the two of them, his body stretched out dangerously, and he feels pulled thin with the pressure.

Liam brushes the tips of his fingers over the ends of the cigarettes, skin dragging over the filters, and he doesn't hate Zayn for this at all, even the tiniest bit, when faced with how easy it is, how he can almost hear them singing his name in smoke just _touching_. "Do they help?"

"I don't know," Zayn exhales, rubs at the scruff on his jaw. "But not doing it doesn't." He feels sick, for a moment, bare and defenseless with one of the few people that don't _have_ to pick him apart choosing to do so.

"I'm sorry," Liam whispers, after a minute, "Zayn, I'm so sorry."

Louis finally speaks up before anyone else can, even with the little sound Harry makes, the way he looks defeated. "Lads, we need to- we can't keep on like this. The last thing we need is turning on each other. Not now."

"I wasn't trying to-" Liam starts, and the words taste pitiful and insufficient even as he says them, "I'm sorry, I've been shit lately at this." _It's just, I've never had to live alone, not like I have the last three weeks, not with a haunted house and voices in my head and I'm supposed to be the one who's got it_ together _and I don't, don't, don't, and I've let you all down._

"It's not you, Liam," Louis shakes his head, sits a little straighter but lets Harry tangle their fingers together. "If anything, you've needed us and we haven't done nearly enough, mate." Niall nods in agreement, wiggles his toes under Liam's thigh to reassert his presence.

Liam laughs bitterly, pushing the noodles at the bottom of his take-out carton around with his plastic fork. It's childish and the distraction he needs. "Not much you could really do," he shrugs, "Short of-" and he shudders a bit, because it's exactly the sort of plot Louis _would_ think up, "Please don't, like, stalk her about and beg her to take me back or anything."

Louis just shakes his head, though, and gets to his feet, pulls Harry along to plop down next to Zayn on the floor. "It's about you now, Liam. We're not talking about her or thinking about her," he says, and looks around at _his_ boys, tired and scared and beautiful. "It's about us, lads," he says, more firmly now, making eye contact with Liam, then Niall, then Zayn, then Harry.

"That's great and all," Niall drawls, "But what're we doing?" He sits up against the arm of the sofa, fiddling with his sweatpants, the baggy bits at his knees and the seams at his thighs and the worn out ties.

As if by mind meld, or perhaps only a squeeze of the hand, Harry's asking the question Louis has been planning all along. "Nialler, could we borrow your bed? I mean, all of us?" His red mouth is nearly upstaged by the circles under his eyes, these days, the way he looks particularly breakable in public only magnified in private.

Niall shrugs, adjusting himself as he sits up, grabs for the beer that's oozing perspiration onto his carpet, finishes it off in two short swallows. "Now?"

Harry looks at Louis for guidance, then- they can only go so far- and Louis nods, “If nobody objects. It’s been awhile since we’ve been back.” He doesn’t say to the bungalow, because depending on the bungalow now is silly and immature and unrealistic, something they haven’t been able to do in a long time but have replaced with king sized beds around the world, all of them crisp and white in cookie-cutter hotel rooms.

Niall’s is neither crisp nor white, sheets soft and rumpled and navy blue, and they have to push a pile of clean clothes off the mattress to all fit on, but this will always be better than any swanky hotel, simply because it’s theirs. They fall in NiallLouisHarryLiamZayn, and then there’s shuffling as everybody tries to get under the sheets and Zayn tries to pull up the duvet and Harry tries to steal Niall’s pillow. 

“Are you quite finished?” Louis asks, not quite achieving grumpy as he twines himself around Harry’s longer, leaner body. 

Harry settles for the corner of Louis’ shoulder as a pillow, and Liam gives Zayn a really worried look, and Zayn fiddles with Liam’s sleeve as a truce signal of sorts, and- and okay, things look better already.

“Well, then,” says Niall, because his bed’s full and maybe this isn’t exactly what he meant when he thought to himself a few nights ago that maybe things were too big and he’s only small, but it fills the gaps well enough. It’s odd, what being handed instructions and an x to stand on does to you, the way you squint your eyes even before the spotlight comes on at full force.

“ ‘m sorry I snapped at you,” Zayn whispers, and presses the knuckles of his fingers up against Liam’s arm, cold and shivery even with the feather comforter pulled up around his shoulders. Then again, perhaps the shivers aren’t related to the temperature at all. He’s always gone a little weak in Liam’s presence; it’s not like it surprises him any more.

Liam shakes his head, reaches out a fist to brush his knuckles against Zayn’s. “I asked for it,” he mutters, but smiles a little. Staying angry at each other over petty things is futile: thinking in terms of allies and enemies is callow, but every cliché about being in this together has always applied to the five of them.

“Niall,” Louis speaks up, slips a soothing hand into Harry’s hair until they almost feel normal- “D’you have any objections to me fucking Haz in your bed?”

The way all four other boys are, to varying degrees, caught off guard is saying something, when the truth is that Louis and Harry barely even kiss around anyone anymore. Harry chews on his lip and has to count out breaths, to focus on Louis’ hand carding through his curls.

Zayn reaches over Liam and Harry to touch his fingers to Louis- they skitter along his ribs where he’s pressed into Harry, and Liam takes the opportunity to relax further into Zayn, the concave space where he just _fits_ against Zayn’s skinny chest. “No objections here,” Niall mutters, “Cum’s a devil’a get outta the sheets, though.” 

“We’ll buy you new ones,” Harry suggests, and Zayn says, “I like _these_ ,” and none of them points out it’s not his bed. 

It’s not- they’re not usually likely to stray from the pack together, but Liam grabs one of Harry’s hands and bends each finger, one by one, as if testing out his joints. It’s quiet and absentminded, the kind of thing intended to go unnoticed, but it’s exactly _that_ that makes it stand out so much, coming from Liam. Harry smiles, little and warm, and can tell when each boy’s eyes fall on his hand in Liam’s, watchful, curious.

“Lou,” he mumbles, “What if maybe you fucked Liam?”

Liam’s fingers tighten reflexively around Harry’s, and he goes a little stiff against Zayn, staring between Harry and Louis and, across them, to Niall and his wide eyes. “Jesus,” Niall breathes, and his arm shifts as he obviously palms himself under the sheets. 

“Li?” Louis arches a brow, and he’s tightened his hold on Harry’s hip, is pressing up behind him tightly now. 

For having not so much as _thought_ about anything remotely sexual in the past three weeks, Liam feels like he reacts pretty well. Harry’s trapped in the crossfire, but he can turn his head a little to catch Louis’ eyes- Louis glances minutely at him and then back at Liam, expectant. “Okay,” Liam agrees, because he’s lost the one and he cut off all his hair and maybe it’s not so much about him as it is about all five of them, about their separate burdens as a unit, because they’re not _them_ without their inherent, intrinsic awareness of each other.

Zayn’s fingers itch for cigarettes, but they’re back in the living room where Liam had (he probably thought sneakily) shoved them down the side of the couch. Niall has slipped his hand into his sweats on the opposite side of the bed, breath hitching like it always does, and Zayn wishes he could be that careless, that confident. Instead, all there is for him to do is lean back and watch as Louis crawls almost on top of Harry, slow like caramelized sugar, and reels Liam in with a hand at the back of his neck. It’s all happening _so close_ to Zayn, but he feels like he’s a thousand miles away, or a thousand feet under water. 

Louis doesn’t kiss Liam immediately. It’s tentative, this lead-up, like walking around eggshells so as not to crush them, like sweeping up glass in bare feet, like a thousand other metaphors for delicacy that don’t do Louis and Liam justice, in this moment. Louis is anchored, set, in Harry’s embrace, and he reaches for Liam cautiously, gives him plenty of time to move away, although they all know he won’t. Louis is a magnet that is forever attracting and none of them have ever been able to resist. 

Liam hasn’t kissed anyone since Danielle, and it feels so much bigger than this room full of five boys who don’t know anything but how to hold onto each other.

Nimble hands brushing over Liam’s hair- because they don’t slip in, now, but merely rub at bristles- Louis tips his chin and covers Liam’s lips with his. It’s a little bit tragic, Liam thinks, how kissing Louis who is so unlike her, scratchy chin and slightly chapped lips, makes him realize that he may very well never kiss her again. Moreso it’s all cathartic: Louis’ warm tongue slipping into his mouth, Zayn’s warmth at his back anchoring him to reality, Niall’s soft breaths, and Harry’s low humming, like he’s vocalizing the thrum of their energy. 

“Y’look good together,” Harry mumbles, and Zayn lets his eyes burn with the images until they’ll shine, inverted, at the back of his eyelids. 

Louis kisses Liam until he’s pulling away to breathe, and then he nudges their noses together, staying in close. He reaches back to fold his fingers in Harry’s, and speaks up. “Nialler, where’s your lube?”

“Drawer,” Niall grunts, “B’hind Zayn, I think.” 

“Are you really,” Louis starts, and cranes his neck to check, laughs when he catches the sight of Niall, flushed and with his hand down his shorts. “You _are_ , you little twat, slow down.” And if Niall does, no one points out that it’s because even when Louis’ joking, they all listen. He does, and it is, but no one needs to say it.

Louis kisses Liam again, nipping at his lower lip, and mumbles against his mouth. “Zaynie, be a love, get us the stuff, would you.” And Zayn almost wants to resist, but it’s futile and at least like this he’s involved; so he rolls over and digs through the drawer of Niall’s bedside table. Under tissues and an empty box of condoms and a bottle of cold meds, he finally gets his fingers round what Louis wants. He’s painfully conscious of how he doesn’t touch Liam, even as he leans back in close to offer the tube to Lou. 

However, Louis is already leaning back into Liam and doesn’t seem about to pay attention to Zayn, and Zayn can only glance over Lou’s shoulder at Harry for guidance. Harry shrugs, shoulders appearing behind Louis’ and then retreating until all Zayn can see is watchful green eyes peeking out from above Louis’ shoulder, Harry’s red lips pressed to the seam of Louis’ tee.

“Okay,” he breathes. He brings a hand around to undo Liam’s button and zipper, taps his tailbone for him to shift and help Zayn tug his trousers down, and not once do Liam’s lips fall apart from Louis’. It’s hard not to take it to heart.

Niall leans up on an elbow to get a better view, makes a small grumpy noise when he realizes Liam’s pants are getting pulled down to his thighs. “Wankers,” he mumbles, and Harry chuckles a bit, which gets him a nudge behind the knees from Niall’s cold toes.

Harry finally throws Zayn a bone, taps at Louis’ arm and noses the back of his neck to get his attention. “Gotta listen to Zayn for a minute, he’s gonna get Li ready for you but y’gotta let him,” he mumbles, and Louis reaches back to pet at his bum, nods.

Louis isn’t a very good listener, though. “Liam, let’s get you out of these,” he decides, and Zayn can only lie idly on his side, expendable and craving nicotine and definitely _not_ staring as Louis helps Liam slide his trousers and underwear all the way off. Harry sits up and tugs his jumper off- “In solidarity,” he claims, but he doesn’t need an excuse, not even now, to get his kit off, and once they’re settled down, Liam’s discarded clothes at the foot of the bed and Harry fitted against Louis’ back with a big, warm hand rubbing at Niall’s hip behind him, Zayn lifts Liam’s leg and coats his fingers generously with lube.

Liam shivers a little, curling forward against Louis, who pushes his knee between Liam’s to hold his leg up, giving Zayn a bit more room. Behind them, Harry is plastered to Louis’ back and anchored to Niall’s side, and Niall is moving in behind Harry; they’re all tucked tightly into the middle of the mattress, falling into each other a bit. 

“Okay?” Zayn asks, letting the back of his wrist brush the curve of Liam’s ass, fingers hovering, unsure.

After a beat, Liam nods and Zayn uses his free hand to spread him open, slick fingertips rubbing at his entrance. When Zayn pushes his index finger in there’s enough resistance to warrant giving Louis a nod, and Lou kisses Liam again, slower this time. Zayn slides in to the knuckle, and he’s done this to himself and others enough times to know, before Liam can try to pull away to say so, when he’s ready for a second and eventually a third finger, stretching and slicking.

It aches and burns and Liam’s body isn’t cooperative at first, doesn’t _want_ to relax into it, but Louis’ tongue and lips and teeth are valiantly persuasive, and Zayn’s fingers are wickedly clever, and before Liam really knows it, he’s moaning against Louis’ mouth and pressing his hips back, panting. 

“He’s good,” Harry mutters, in between the kisses he’s been mouthing at Lou’s shoulder as he and Niall look on. “Go on, Lou, he needs it now.” 

Zayn’s throat seizes up when Louis immediately nods, twisting to brush his lips across Harry’s, and it reads as _permission_ , and _assurance-_ and Zayn pulls his fingers out and winces at the slick, sticky sound it makes.

Working in tandem, as always, Harry and Louis sit up- under Lou’s silent instruction, Harry scoots back against the headboard and discards his jeans and briefs, and he makes grabby hands at Liam where he lies on his side, a little dazed. “Li,” Louis speaks up, “Sit up against Haz? That’s a love.”

Although Niall may be carefree, he’s just as mindful of his bandmates as any of the others, and he crawls to the opposite side of the bed, where Zayn looks minuscule and defeated as Liam gets settled between Harry’s legs. He fits his body up against Zayn’s, back turned boldly to Liam and Louis and Harry, and cups at Zayn’s dick through his jeans, swallows up Zayn’s curse in a feverish kiss unlike anyone but Niall can offer.

“Lou,” Liam whispers, a little hoarse, propped as he is against Harry’s chest, Louis’ hands pressing his thighs apart easily, pushing his knees up. 

“I’ve got you, Liam,” Louis says, voice grit-silky and soothing. He pets at Liam’s inner thigh with one hand and slicks himself with the other, jerks his chin at Harry- “Harry’s got you, too, love, y’see?” and Harry wraps his arms securely around Liam’s middle, big, broad hands spread over Liam’s ribs.

“Just,” Liam nods, and swallows hard, “g’on, please. I’m okay.” 

Niall curls his tongue against Zayn’s and presses the heel of his palm against the hard line of Zayn’s erection, hitches his leg up against Zayn’s hip, grinding against his thigh. If it’s meant as a distraction, it mostly works, and Zayn makes a tiny, relieved noise against his mouth.

It feels like everything goes quiet except for the desperate sounds Liam makes and Louis’ whispers of encouragement as, slotting between Liam’s spread legs, he slides into Liam, hot and tight. Niall’s mouth is still on Zayn’s, and they’re grinding together, and it’s suddenly not enough when Harry joins in on Louis’ litany of reassurance. With a minute grumble from Niall, Zayn pulls away from the kiss and begs, hurriedly, “Lemme suck you, Ni, yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” Niall nods, and sifts his fingers through Zayn’s soft fringe, thumbs at his cheekbone. “Go on.”

Harry says, “Get his kit all the way off, would you,” and it takes them all a minute to figure out what he means, that he’s talking to Zayn- everything is narrowing down to arms and hands and heat and Zayn nods, hurriedly, not looking over at the other three. Niall lifts his hips to help him, and his sweats go down easy, are shrugged off one foot and to the floor without a fuss, and then Zayn is tucking his fingers into the elastic of his underwear and pulling them down as well. 

Niall settles easily next to Harry against the headboard, pulls his tee off as an afterthought and plants his feet flat on the mattress, knees up and apart. He wraps a hand around the base of his dick but Zayn bats it away quickly after kicking his jeans off. Briefs still on, he settles on his stomach between Niall’s legs, propped up on his elbows, and swallows Niall’s cock down without preamble.

Liam is too dazed to really pay attention, too full and still adjusting to Louis’ cock stretching him open, but he tips his head sideways at Niall’s impetuous curse. He can feel the rumble of Harry’s laughter against his back, and even though he’s not quite at the point where the pleasure overpowers the pain of Louis inside him, he feels better than he has in too long. “ ‘sat good, Li?” Louis asks from above him, and Liam takes a deep breath before nodding.

“So good,” Harry says, warmly, and brushes his knuckles over Liam’s abs, the lines where his ribs push out as he inhales sharply. “You always feel so, so good, Lou, just give him a minute and he’ll be begging for it, jus’ like I do.” 

“Fuckin’ dirty mouth,” Niall spits, and it’s clear he’s talking to Harry even though his gaze doesn’t waver from Zayn’s head bobbing between his thighs, Zayn’s fingers pressing pink marks into the pale canvas of his skin, possessive. 

“One to talk,” Lou says, haughtily, but he’s breathless, voice thin, and it’s not meant as a reproof. Liam is _tight_ , still, even with Zayn’s prep, his body tense and overheated and Louis knows it’ll be great if he can just get him to _relax_. It’s what Liam needs, to unwind and just let someone else take over, and it makes Louis roll his eyes a bit that Liam is still this tense when he’s getting fucked. He rocks his hips a little, experimentally.

Slowly, though, Liam steadies his breathing and unclenches his stomach, tips his head back against Harry’s collarbone, short hair tickling over Harry’s skin. Harry swipes his thumb over Liam’s nipple in retaliation, looks up at Louis with a sort of softness that the others seem to miss before Liam says, finally, “Okay, Lou, y’can. Go on.”

“I can what,” Louis prompts, not unkindly, and smiles at Liam, encouragingly, settles a hand at his hip and holds himself up on the other, propped near Harry’s ribs.

Liam huffs, considers asking Harry to _make_ Louis move or something, but he hasn’t got the patience or shame not to beg. “Fuck me,” he grits out, shifts his hips on the mattress, trying to grind down against Louis.

Off to the side, Zayn pulls off of Niall’s dick with a pop, then sucks hard on the head, flicking his tongue against the slit, relentless. Niall swears, and it melds with Liam’s choking inhale as Louis starts to move, with Harry’s pleased humming.

Liam has no idea what tune Harry is murmuring into his hair, but it’s soft and sweet, a pretty counterpoint to the burn of Louis pulling back, the hot friction as he rolls his hips, pushing back in. Harry’s hand dances up to press to Louis’ chest, thumbing at his collarbone, and then wrapping long fingers around his shoulder, urging him forward, again and again, forcing a rhythm out of his careful movements.

Heat building in his belly, Niall watches Louis and Liam and Harry, admires the way they somehow _work_ , how easily LouisandHarry seem to have assimilated Liam and how they _know_ how to cater to his needs. Looking down at Zayn isn’t half bad, either- his lips are shiny and stretched thin, and his lashes fan out over his cheekbones, inky smudges across flushed olive skin. Niall chances slipping a hand into Zayn’s hair, and although it usually doesn’t go well, Zayn hums in appreciation which does wonders for Niall.

Niall’s cock is hot and salty-slick, straining Zayn’s jaw, and it’s a relief for Zayn to be able to focus on this one thing in the middle of everything else that’s going on, dulling the deep-set ache for nicotine and smoke and attention. He’s careful of his teeth, but doesn’t hesitate to let them drag slightly at the underside as he pulls off, presses his tongue to the sensitive place just under the head of Niall’s dick and then sucks hard. It’s easy, concentrating on making this good for Niall, _being_ good for Niall, and even when his fingers tighten in Zayn’s hair, Zayn doesn’t complain.

With his fingers in Zayn’s hair, too, it’s easy for Niall to push Zayn down on his cock a little, hold him in place when he swirls his tongue around the head, and it’s exactly the kind of thing that gives Niall the power he didn’t know he was craving, or at the very least hadn’t put a name to. Lately they’re being told what to do and who to be more than ever and they have no option but to obey, to follow the rules and fit the molds blindly, and being in control of _something_ might just be the thing that brings Niall over the edge this time.

Zayn feels it, running in the tension up Niall’s thighs and down the shivering muscles of his stomach, and he pulls off, hand curling tight and possessive around the base of Niall’s cock. Niall makes a hurt noise and nearly doubles in half, bending forward and trying to push Zayn’s head back down, but Zayn is stubborn, clears his throat and looks up at him, licks his lips. “Y’wanna come on my face?”

To the side, Liam whimpers, and Louis makes an undignified noise as he thrusts deep in. “ _Yes_ ,” Niall hisses through his teeth, and when he pushes Zayn’s head down this time he goes as far as the head of Niall’s prick, sucking hard and dragging his teeth just a little, dirty and determined. “Good lad,” Louis says, to no one in particular.

Liam manages to tip his head, lolling slightly on Harry’s chest, and catches just a brief glimpse of Zayn’s jaw, sharp as glass, and the hollow of his cheeks, the obscene redness of his lips as he pulls off and says, “Yeah, Nialler, c’mon,” voice rougher than after even the longest of smoke breaks. He has to close his eyes, though, against the visual of Niall’s entire body shaking apart, his hands urgent and rough in Zayn’s hair. Louis’ hips jerk harshly--Liam’s sure if he opened his eyes, he’d find Louis still watching the two of them--and Harry’s hands tighten on Liam’s own hips, and it’s too, too much, and not enough, either.

The combination of Zayn’s quick jerks with a tight fist and the darkness in his eyes as he hovers close to Niall’s cock drives Niall over the edge, his orgasm only made exponentially better as Zayn lets him spurt across his cheeks and reddened mouth, his pink tongue out and flat over his lower lip. Zayn strokes him through, fast and rough, catches Niall’s come in his mouth and across his jaw and over his cheeks, with a single droplet near his hairline. Chest heaving, Niall doesn’t have the mind to apologize for fisting his hand a little too hard in Zayn’s hair, but he tries, anyway- “Fuck, Zayn, _love_ you.”

Zayn chokes a little, presses his face into Niall’s thigh and breathes hard; everything smells and tastes and _feels_ like Niall, and he’s never been so grateful. “You too,” he mumbles, teeth scraping a bit at the pale skin at the inside of Niall’s upper thigh. 

Louis says, “good job, mate,” and reaches over to squeeze Zayn’s shoulder briefly. And Liam- well, Liam whines, because Louis is distracted and he hasn’t moved in what feels like forever, and Harry’s whispering that it’s _okay_ to be selfish in his ear and for once, Liam wants to be. (He’s not calling it jealousy, because that would mean- it’s not jealousy. Niall’s come is hot and wet across Zayn’s cheekbones, but this is not jealousy.)

Thankfully for Liam, once Niall’s slumping and curling up around a pillow, Louis’ attention is back to him and Harry. It’s a little claustrophobic, being in between Harry and Louis- as much as Louis might be inside Liam, there’s an unwavering sense of intrusion every time Louis glances past Liam’s shoulder at Harry. Liam almost feels trapped with Harry’s hard-on nudging his spine and Louis’ hungry, wandering eyes, in the crossfire of something bigger than himself- and then Harry will leave a wet kiss at the base of his neck, or Louis will re-settle his hand on Liam’s hip, dig his fingernails in until Liam’s eyes roll back in his skull, overcome with the physical sensations but also the belonging and companionship his empty flat has deprived him of for weeks.

Harry’s hands are drifting, transient heat drawn between Liam’s body and Lou’s, unable to settle any one place for long, just drawing them in together and settling them closer each time. Liam can’t tell where his own body ends and theirs begin, anymore, it’s all just heat and careful touches and the ache at the base of his spine as Louis tips his hips up and fucks into him. 

Zayn stays between Niall’s thighs until he’s caught his breath a couple times over, listening to the sounds from next to them on the mattress with his eyes closed. It’s impressively easier to deal with, now that his jaw aches and his scalp tingles and Niall’s come has gone tacky across his cheeks, all tangible proof that someone _did_ want him and that he’s _not_ on his own, that he’s part of this, no matter what.

Liam is past finding it eerie that once he starts to feel like it’s too much, like the warmth in his belly is about to bubble over, Harry wraps a hand around his cock, rubs his palm over the precome at the head and slides in time with Louis’ thrusts, growing more erratic by the second. Harry _knows_ what Louis sounds like when he’s close, and it only makes sense to try and match it for Liam- he sets his teeth on the side of Liam’s neck, dragging and following the stinging trails with his tongue, mumbles encouragement against Liam’s ear, and Liam doesn’t have to look to know he’s probably got his eyes on Louis, challenging.

It’s an entirely different experience than the last time Liam had sex, and he doesn’t really want to compare them, doesn’t want to _think_ about comparing them, but it’s all the better for the difference, and he doesn’t find he regrets it. He just wants _more_ , and his body seems to demand it before he can find the words to vocalize it, his legs tightening around Louis’ waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back and urging him to go harder, faster. “Please,” he grits out, holding onto Harry’s arm with one hand and grabbing at Louis’ shoulder with the other.

“C’mon, Liam,” Louis demands, snaps his hips forward at a particular angle simply because it usually works with Harry, and for a moment he considers how odd it is that he’s thinking of Harry even as he fucks another bloke. And then he catches Harry’s green eyes fixed on him from behind Liam’s sweat-shiny skin and it makes _sense_ , because everything _is_ about Harry, always, to a sizable extent, and pretending it isn’t is futile. The angle works on Liam too, anyway, and he moans without restraint.

Niall reaches down to swipe his thumb just under Zayn’s eye, and it doesn’t really clean him up so much as just spread the mess, but it does get Zayn’s attention. Looking up, Niall jerks his chin, raises an eyebrow at Zayn, suggestive. “G’on.”

Zayn doesn’t move from the comforting nest of Niall’s legs and hipbones, but he reaches across the sheets to press his knuckles to Liam’s hip. “Y’look good,” he admits, voice raspy and sore, and it doesn’t much matter who he’s talking to, because all three of them look nothing short of gorgeous like this, tangled sweat and limbs and panting mouths. 

“We’ve got you,” Harry mutters, nosing at Liam’s hair and twisting his hand around the head of Liam’s dick. “Let go, Li, c’mon.”

When Liam comes, it’s quiet- Zayn’s hand at his side feels like it’s burning a brand through skin and muscle into his bones, and Louis fucks him quickly and clumsily, and Harry breathes against his neck and the heat of it spreads down Liam’s chest and back until it meets and melds with the waves of electricity at the base of his spine. Liam comes striping his stomach and chest, harder than he has in a long while, and it feels better than he remembers, somehow, different, and it _is_ \- he’s surrounded, acutely aware of the other four people in the room, particularly the one, oddly enough, that hadn’t been touching him until a few seconds ago. He barely registers Harry’s stern “C’mon, you too, Lou,” to his right, only really puts meaning behind the otherwise senseless words when he realizes that Louis is still fucking him after he’s come.

It feels like everything but Louis fades into the background, then, Niall and his sleepy eyes and Zayn curled up in between his legs and Harry’s warm encouragement and Liam’s body still buzzing, still thrumming with Louis pounding into him, hipbones grinding against the back of Liam’s thighs. Liam is hot and slick and loose, chest and stomach stained and the smell of it- of all of them in varying degrees- weighs down the air, pulling Louis home.

Harry traces nonsense patterns across Liam’s ribs, fingers messy, and he feels when Louis’ orgasm hits, signaled by a hitch in Liam’s breath that shifts his back against Harry’s chest. Liam’s eyes have fallen closed, and Harry presses a kiss to his temple, noses at his hair soothingly while Louis rides out his high.

Louis thinks he could stay as he is for the next hour and he wouldn’t mind, the next forever and it would be good, but he knows better than to imagine Liam feels the same. He’s careful when he pulls out, pressing Liam’s thigh up a bit to ease the drag as he slides free and gingerly moving off to the mattress beside him, pressing up against his side and pillowing his head on Harry’s arm. He can’t come up with the right words, doesn’t feel the need, for once, and stays quiet, trying to catch his breath, rubs at Liam’s side a bit.

“That’s three out of five,” Harry notes quietly, and Liam nods, lips pulling up at the corner a little, aware of the wet spot at his back where the head of Harry’s prick has been rubbing. Zayn nods against Niall’s thigh, curls his fingers up in the sheets to keep from rubbing at himself just yet. “C’n we rearrange?”

Niall grunts in response and Louis tuts at him, “You probably won’t even have to _move_ ,” and Liam’s still a bit fuzzy but he smiles, reaches out to pet at Niall’s shoulder.

It’s as if it were choreographed in ways they’ve never been able to grasp onstage, when they finally do shift around. Niall pulls Zayn up with hands at his elbows, scrunches his nose but pecks his lips all the same as he pushes him over his leg towards the other boys; Harry, then, leans forward and brings Liam with him, kisses at the base of his neck and instructs to _just get on your side there with Zayn_ in his sticky-slow drawl. 

Liam falls into the spot made for him right next to Zayn, falls just the same into a slow, deep kiss. He doesn’t mind Niall’s come still on Zayn’s face, swipes it out from under his eyes with his thumbs and presses his palms to Zayn’s cheeks, thinks, hazily, that they might just stick like this.

Louis is virtually useless until Harry settles a hand at his lower back and pulls him into a kiss, and he doesn’t have to be told at all to move next to Liam, Harry scooting to the edge of the bed and curling up on his side, teeth digging hard into his lower lip in an effort to ignore the ache between his legs, too hard for too long.

Louis reaches back for him, natural and instinctive, his hand finding Harry’s hip and rubbing his thumb into the dip of the bone, a silent question of why Harry isn’t closer. He’s watching Zayn over Liam’s shoulder, the movement of his arm the only betrayal of the tentative way his hands are exploring Liam’s chest, tracing into the cooling stickiness on his stomach and in the lightly curling hairs below his belly button. But as pretty and heart-wrenching as the visual is, Louis can feel Harry behind him, can almost hear the way his body is pleading for contact. 

“C’mon, love,” he murmurs, tipping his head back and then twisting to look over his shoulder, giving Harry a small smile. “Going to fuck me or what now?”

Niall is a little awed from the opposite side of the bed, nearly misses it when Harry asks him to pass the lube bottle that ended up wedged in between the mattress and the headboard. He scoots up against the headboard to see better, over Liam and Zayn to where Louis is shimmying back against Harry’s crotch, has his arm twisted funny just so he can rub at Harry’s thigh. Niall watches through heavy-lidded eyes as Louis reaches back blindly with a handful of lube, palms at Harry. Harry grunts low in his throat, just moves closer and closer until his chest is to Louis’ back like it had been to Liam’s and just- slides against Louis, Niall guesses, unsure from his point of view.

“Fuck, _lads_ , ‘d he just- just like that?” he asks, perplexed. Zayn and Liam don’t emerge from their kiss until Louis laughs, raspy.

“‘ve you _seen_ the bloke?” Louis replies, pulling Harry’s arm snugly around his waist. “I’d probably cry if he did. He’s- between m’legs,” he explains, and just at the right time, as if to illustrate a point, Harry’s prick nudges his balls and Louis whimpers. Niall isn’t there to judge, and Louis knows it, still adds, “Works when we’re too tired f’more,” shrugging a little and smiling all too sweetly.

Harry tightens his arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him back, flush till he can hook his chin over Lou’s shoulder, press his nose to Louis’ throat and feel his pulse stutter. Louis’ body is hot, and it’s good, the clumsy rhythm he’s made just rocking his hips forward, pushing his dick through Louis’ thighs. 

Liam feels triumphant when he remembers to slip his hand past Zayn’s waistband with no pretense and wrap a hand around his dick- Zayn’s mouth falls lax against his and he laughs, fond, working his palm over the wet head of Zayn’s cock and then sliding over him. It’s not entirely unfamiliar to Liam, but there’s a bit of thought to put into being the one touching rather than touched for the first time tonight. It feels like letting go of all the thoughts that have been weighing him down for weeks, refocusing and prioritizing on someone else’s relief.

There’s a second when Zayn thinks he’ll come just like this, Liam’s hand that little bit rough with inexperience, and he whimpers against his mouth, half plea and half apology for the way his body moves forward without warning, seeking more. He doesn’t, but it’s close. He’s nearly pressed to Liam’s chest now, trying to fit to the curve of his body, hips working desperately into Liam’s fist, and he’s been waiting, he and Harry have _both_ been waiting so long, and they deserve this.

“C’mon, love,” Louis encourages- both Harry and Zayn, really- once Harry’s thrusts get sloppier, his dick sliding not so much between Louis’ thighs as he hitches his hips up. “I- oh, fuck, _Haz_ ,” he groans, right about when Harry’s pace becomes completely erratic and desperate, right when his prick slides against the cleft of Louis’ arse instead of between his legs, too hot and slick.

Harry moans in response, leaning up on the arm beneath him to brush his mouth at Louis’ chin, lips sliding against his stubble, blindly searching for Louis’ own. “Yeah,” he says, low like it’s being ripped out of him, and Louis twists impossibly to kiss him, reaching for his hair and tugging sharply, once, twice, at the curls at the nape of his neck. Harry chokes against his mouth, grinding out his orgasm against Louis’ arse, coming all over the small of his back and enough that it drips down the crease of his bum. 

Niall thinks, belatedly, that he’ll just have to try it for himself, but he has a vague suspicion, watching Louis all contorted to get at Harry’s lips, that it’s a particular thing for the two of them. Zayn’s beginning to sound close, too, right next to him, and he presses a hand flat between his shoulderblades, looks over Zayn’s shoulder and feels relief rather than jealousy or rejection when Liam’s eyes are closed, invested completely in bringing Zayn off.

Zayn is vaguely aware that Harry’s finished, somewhere on the other side of the bed, and he knows that means he’s good, he can let go, he doesn’t have to wait on anyone- that they’re all waiting on him, really. It’s just a little bit hard, now, because while Liam’s quickened his pace, tightening his hand when he twists on the upstroke, while he’s doing everything right and it’s so good... there’s a tiny bit of Zayn’s brain that’s clinging to this moment. Telling him not to fucking come and ruin this because who knows when it’ll happen again and he’s waited long enough; he’d better enjoy it. And it’s enough that even though he’s shifting, fucking Liam’s fist in time with his strokes, he’s. He’s good, really. The need from before has settled into a smooth simmer, and he’s got his eyes tightly shut, forehead tipped into Liam’s, trying to soak up as much contact as possible.

“Hey,” Liam says, and Zayn almost startles, squeezes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose. “Zayn, ‘re you close?” he asks, and wonders if maybe he should change something, go faster or slower or apply more pressure at the crown or- or something, anything that’ll keep Zayn from shutting him out.

“Fuck,” Zayn whines, suddenly realizing how _selfish_ this all is of him, trying to cling onto more than he deserves. He _knows_ it’ll only get him worked up, but the thoughts are flooding in already, hurtful and bitter, questioning why Liam would even want to touch him, telling himself to just hurry and let go already. “Sorry, ‘m sorry-”

“What?” Louis asks, rousing from Harry’s arms and peering over Liam’s shoulder, “Why’s he- fuck’s sake, Zayn.”

Liam glances back at him helplessly, and Zayn is. Is backing away, out of his touch, now, leaning back, and Liam suddenly gets it, how he’s barely even touched Zayn all night, and how Zayn’s brain is taking that and twisting it until the thoughts sting. Liam knows he doesn’t get a lot of lightbulb moments; especially not these days, but this is one, and at least he can recognize it. He slides his free arm under Zayn’s ribs, pulls him back into his chest fiercely, squeezes his fist around the head of his prick. He’s not sure if the words are the right ones, but he’s got Louis and Harry and even Niall watching him now, concerned, and he has to say something, has to fix this somehow for Zayn. “I wanna- show me,” he tries, face pressing into the feather wisps of Zayn’s fringe, mouth pressing kisses in with the words to his forehead, “I wanna see, please, Zayn, lemme, for me-”

Zayn chokes and whimpers and spills over Liam’s fist in quick succession, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably as Liam’s hand works quickly over him. He can’t really identify the words, but Liam mumbles warmth and sweetness against his forehead, digs his fingertips into Zayn’s side hard enough that Zayn can’t doubt Liam, or any of them, anymore.

“So pretty,” Niall says, softly, and he’s half-asleep when they all look over, but his eyes are fixed on Zayn, and he gives a little shrug. “He is.”

“I think you’re all lovely,” Louis decides, and his voice is firm, like his fingertips against Liam’s shoulder and the press of his toes to Harry’s calves. 

“I love you, lads,” Niall adds, and Harry hums in agreement. Louis smiles because he hears it close, but also _feels_ it against his back.

Liam, for the first time in weeks, feels like he was never really alone to begin with. “Love you too, Nialler,” he mumbles, lifting his hand from Zayn’s side to pat blindly in Niall’s general direction and reaching back equally to push his knuckles against the pile of HarryandLouis. “And you,” he says, and Louis pecks a kiss below his ear, making him squirm- and finally he rests his hand on Zayn’s shoulder, pulls back a little to have a proper look at him, diving in soon after to kiss his swollen lips, the message clear.

“Love you,” Zayn says, small in the silence that follows, and they all know it’s for them. 

It’s quiet long enough that Liam thinks Harry and Niall, at the very least, must’ve dropped off, but when Louis speaks up he _knows_ they all hear him. “See you lads in the morning, then,” he announces. “We’ll have to have an encore, I think you’ll agree.”

Harry’s voice is a low grumble, muffled in Louis’ hair, when he says, “Insatiable,” but Zayn can hear the fondness. He tightens his fingers at Liam’s waist and shifts so they can both share the pillow. Niall is curled up in a ball behind them, playing with the hem of the sheet drowsily. 

“Okay,” Liam says, and they’re settled.


End file.
